


Small Magic

by Remember When (scribblemyname)



Series: Comment Fic LiveJournal Stories [192]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Can Be Read Pre-Relationship, Cinderella Elements, Community: comment_fic, Elements of Amnesia/Brainwashing, Ella Enchanted AU, Fairy Tale Elements, Friendship, Military School, Non-sexual Non-Con, Pre-War, Royalty, forced obedience, mentions of canon-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/Remember%20When
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky didn't remember the first incidents of obedience, but he remembered the growing resentments of having no choice but to do exactly as Natasha said when she was bossily ordering him about the kitchen.</p><p>Or the one where a little boy is cursed by a well-meaning fairy godfather, befriends a prince, and grows up to start (and stop) a war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigriswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/gifts).



> So many apologies for how long it took this piece to come together. I'm so, so sorry. I thought for sure I'd have it to you long, long, long before now, but getting the boys to be all masculine and in character in the exact same plot as Ella Enchanted wasn't quite working. I threw out multiple versions of this story, and I hope you like the one I finally kept.
> 
> Prompt by tigriswolf at the LiveJournal Comment Fic community: [Avengers movieverse, Steve/Bucky, Ella Enchanted AU – Bucky is Ella and Steve is Char](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/518144.html?thread=75296768#t75296768)

Kyrria was not at war (unless you counted the trolls), but it had its own fair share of problems and difficulties, not least of which were a sickly prince, a meddlesome fairy godfather, and a handful of trusted generals quite set on war. In time, all of these things would be solved by a protective fairy godmother, a prince not too arrogant for his throne, and a boy who never deserved to meet godfathers or generals but met them both.

A questionable beginning, you say? Most such stories begin questionably. We should be pleased when they end less so.

A proper beginning then… _Once upon a time._

—

Once upon a time, in the land of Kyrria, Sir George and Lady Winifred became the joyous parents of a son, their one and only. Sir George was traveling at the time, and Lady Winifred was attended by the family cook, who was often present at family events of any great importance. ( _Her_ name was Natasha, but that is not important yet.)

The birth was also attended by a fairy. Fairies could be nuisances, in the sense that few weddings or births passed without one or more, but few fairies would ever be more of a nuisance than the fairy known as Stark, for he was full of radical ideas for blessings upon mortals and, inspired by the hearty cries of the newborn boy, blessed him that "he'll always be obedient. Now, stop crying."

Natasha picked up the pan they had boiled water in, and Stark disappeared in a flash of magic.

—

"He doesn't mean any harm," the nice lady with the reddish blonde hair told Natasha.

Bucky climbed up into her lap. The nice lady clearly knew how to hold a child so he could still look around everywhere else in the kitchen.

Natasha had her hands on her hips and lips pursed in displeasure. "He never means any harm, Pepper."

Pepper sighed. "We've been together for a few centuries now, Natasha."

"And you haven't cured him of meddling yet."

Pepper shrugged. "Sometimes he does something wonderful."

"Sometimes even wonderful comes at too high a price."

—

Large magic was dangerous. Small magic was all right. Humans rarely understood or cared about the difference.

A small, sickly prince, who could not see all the colors he should, who couldn't even catch his breath after exerting himself too much, worried his mother and father, the king and queen of Kyrria. They called Stark because he was the fairy who would do the things you asked of him. He was the fairy who wouldn't let Pepper talk him out of it and _would_ make the prince not just well, but "at the best health and strength a human can be."

Large magic was dangerous, but sometimes he really did manage to do something wonderful.

—

And sometimes he really didn't.

—

Bucky didn't remember the first incidents of obedience, but he remembered the growing resentments of having no choice but to do exactly as Natasha said when she was bossily ordering him about the kitchen.

_"Natasha."_

She wasn't cruel. When she realized who she was ordering, she'd consider asking instead.

He remembered telling his friend Brock Rumlow about his curse and being ordered to give Brock all the best treats. He remembered his mother ordering him not to tell anyone ever again. He remembered the few times Sir George was home being ordered to, "Be quiet," and not being let off until Natasha or Lady Winifred slipped upstairs after he'd gone to bed. Sometimes, it was worse. Sometimes his father would ask him questions and Bucky could not answer until Sir George thundered, "Answer me!"

It was all very tiring, very bothersome, and very hateful. Bucky practiced finding ways around commands (it never worked) or holding out against them (but it never lasted).

"One day, you will break this curse, love," Natasha told him comfortingly. "I promise."

"But how?" He slouched back against the kitchen wall, scowling.

"You will."

And wasn't that just helpful?

—

He met the prince the day of his mother's funeral. Lady Winifred had been much loved, and the entire court came to say goodbye. She had been graceful, elegant, friend to the Queen, and Sir George stood stone-faced over the grave, clearly grieving her loss.

Bucky was a boy, only a few years from being a man, and it was not considered acceptable for a boy of his standing to cry, but he could hardly stop the stubborn tears from leaving his eyes and tracking down his face.

Sir George saw it and ordered him gone until he could control himself. Bucky went, and for once, it was a relief to obey.

—

It was the prince who came and got him after the funeral, after Bucky had already buried himself under the arms of a weeping willow where he could still see the freshly turned earth after everyone else had gone indoors for the reception.

"I'm going to miss her," Prince Stephen said, startling Bucky. "She used to read to me when I was sick, and she could always make me and mother laugh, even when the Minister of Foreign Affairs refused to be quiet."

Bucky stared at him for a long moment as the prince stared down at his mother's grave. He wondered what it would be like to refuse to be quiet.

The prince looked up, smiled, a little sadly. "I'm Prince Stephen, but call me Steve. Everyone else does."

Bucky's eyebrows came up.

Steve shook his head ruefully. "Even my father. The reception's breaking up and I came to get you."

There was no command, and it was refreshing to fall into step beside Steve as they went through the trees toward the main reception hall. They talked a bit, nothing important, before Sir George acknowledged the prince respectfully and took Bucky home.


	2. Chapter 2

Sir George was not like Bucky's mother. He gave commands infrequently but far more than she had and far more carelessly. _Run away and bother someone else. Go find an adventure to occupy you. Quiet now. Don't slouch. Be happy I don’t send you to the mines to work._

"Couldn't a fairy godmother break the curse, Natasha?" Bucky asked.

He wasn't full grown yet but he was already tall enough to hover over her as he stirred batter.

She reached up and patted his cheek, unbothered by his new height. "No, Bucky."

"Do I have one?" he asked. "A fairy godmother, that is." Anyone besides Stark.

Natasha looked at him oddly. "Of course, you do, but fairies don't do large magic, except for Stark. It can lead to problems." She threw him another pointed look, this one clearly indicating himself.

"Well, can't I ask _her?"_

"I'm your fairy godmother. Don't stop. Keep stirring."

Bossy Natasha, but he mechanically obeyed. "What about Mother?" he demanded, suddenly angry.

Natasha sighed. "Fairies can't stop death. It's not in our magic. I could keep her well, but only if she ate what I gave her to."

Bucky mulled that over, resentful and silent.

She took the batter from his hands and poured it into a cake pan.

"Are we poor?" he asked suddenly. "Father's been talking about sending me to the mines."

"He wouldn't. You're a noble's son." Natasha furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "He might try to find you a bride though."

Bucky shuddered. It's not like he would be able to refuse.

But Sir George did not have to find Bucky a bride. He found one of the king's generals offering a scholarship for families who sent their sons to his military academy instead. That was good enough.

—

Bucky met the prince again when he wandered through the palace's open zoological garden.

"That's what Dr. Banner calls it anyway," Steve said simply, hands thrust deeper into his pockets than was really proper for a prince.

Bucky watched the centaur galloping through his space, pausing to pluck an apple from a tree. He liked to see the exotic creatures: the dragons, the firebird, even the troll at the very end of the row.

"My father is letting me start a small troop to deal with trolls," Steve added. "The Howling Commandos."

Bucky smiled. "Did you come with that yourself?"

"I did." Steve grinned a little. "Do you like it?"

"I have to say I like it," Bucky answered easily. "It's ostentatious and not at all consistent with the Rose Brigade or the Honorable Fourth Regiment, but the prince came up with it."

"It's not stuffy." Steve frowned. "Don't ever tell me something just because I'm the prince."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "That's a dangerous offer," he said seriously, "but I won't."

"You could join."

But Bucky couldn't. He was going to military school. "My father thinks General Pierce can make me into a man."

"I like you as you are. All he could do is ruin it," Steve muttered. "But write me anyway. I'll write to you."

—

Natasha did better than write Bucky: she went with him and ensconced herself in the military school kitchen with a letter of recommendation and an ease Bucky thought must have been magic.

"Hardly." She sniffed. "I can get in on my own merits."

She gave him a fairy book which changed daily, offering different stories to match his moods, excerpts of his own father's letters, and more—things Bucky was certain he shouldn't be reading but didn't care.

He directed Steve to send letters to Natasha. He knew that all the incoming and outgoing correspondence was read by the censors in training.

"Kyrria's not at war, Natasha," he told her, puzzled.

Natasha looked very quiet and serious. "Kyrria's generals would like to be."

He didn't entirely understand that, but he kept his eyes and ears open and read his book and Steve's letters with great interest.

—

Steve's Commandos appeared in several periodicals of interest in Bucky's book before the announcement, coinciding with the letter, that Steve would be going to Ayortha to spend a year. It was traditional for the neighboring countries to trade royalty and foster to strengthen the alliance between them.

—

No one had to tell General Pierce he could order Bucky around and perfect obedience would follow. Pierce gave orders. It did not take long for him to notice Bucky's exemplary performance of them—or to demand worse. All of Bucky's careful rebellions only served to earn him more KP duty or brig time. He preferred KP.

Bucky lived for the letters he collected from Natasha in the kitchen. She would hand them over solemnly with the tiny bit of magic that would keep anyone from noticing. Only small magic. It made Bucky a little bitter, but he had his letters from Steve and could read them later when everyone else was asleep on their bunks.

Ayortha was a difficult place to hold a conversation in, "but the music is beautiful, and I've found time to sketch."

Bucky drank in the images of happier places but demanded a sketch of Steve. "I cannot tell whether you are happy from your words. You must send me a picture."

The picture turned out to be a very puzzled Steve in the middle of a maze of a flower garden. "Never did I wish more fervently that Ayorthans knew how to carry on a conversation when they pondered whether to answer my query on how to get out!"

Bucky tucked the letters into his fairy book. Natasha's recipes, his father's diaries and letters, and various logs of the school staff kept him apprised of the good and the bad soon to strike his life. Nothing quite prepared him for Pierce's new plan.


	3. Chapter 3

_The asset climbs in a high window where a disloyal traitor to the throne is sleeping soundly in his own safe bed in his own safe room. No one is supposed to know he was seeking to raise a rebellion, but someone does know, and the general is pleased to send an asset to end his life._

—

Bucky remembered the command, "Don't tell anyone about this. Don't even think about it."

It was hard to remember what 'this' and 'it' was though when trying to do so gave him a migraine strong enough to blur his vision.

"Are you all right, love?" Natasha asked with a frown, but he shook his head and did not answer.

—

_The asset diverts from the general exercise to take out one of Pierce's political rivals. General Fury is a danger to Kyrria no more._

—

"I worry," Steve admits in his letters. "Father is concerned about the assassinations, and so am I. I hear too little in Ayortha, but Fury was a good general and a friend of Ayortha. Now, there are other countries concerned about what Father will do with other voices in his ear."

Bucky frowned over the words. There was something he should remember, but no, it was gone.

Steve went on. "My parents want me to have a champion. Actually, they want me to have a bodyguard but they say it like it's merely appointing a champion early. They want me to come home and preside over a tournament like tradition, so everyone can fight for the honor.

"Of course, I do not need a bodyguard, but my parents disagree, so I will doubtless have one. But I'd rather choose than hold a competition. Your marks are the highest at the school. Couldn't you be my champion?"

Bucky caught his breath, then wrote back, "I'm too young to be a prince's champion. You should have a strong, tested warrior." Around that, he tucked what news and updates he could. "My old friend Brock Rumlow is here. He always looks like he wants to stab me in the back."

—

"How are you really, love?" Natasha felt his forehead when he scrubbed potatoes, officially on reprimand for running only the precise drill instructions instead of successfully completing the drill's goals.

Bucky was tired lately, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep, but he shrugged and rubbed at some painful bruises on his arm.

Natasha took the knife from his hands, pushed up the sleeve, and looked at his arm. "Bucky. Where did you get these?"

He looked up, weary, and shrugged. "I don't know."

—

"You're not too young," Steve wrote.

Bucky was too dangerous. Natasha had stood watch over his empty bunk and known by look at him when he returned that he'd been in combat.

"Surely you can be my champion."

Bucky could not tell him the truth around the commands of his mother to keep his curse a secret, around Pierce's daily commands to not speak, not think of, around Natasha's commands to never tell anyone besides her what was going on.

"I am too tired to be your champion. I prepared potatoes for three hundred students in KP duty."

And so it went on.

—

Natasha, thin-lipped and angry, called Stark.

Bucky didn't think anyone could talk this wild fairy into trying a taste of his own medicine, but Natasha did.

"I told Pepper there's no way that _you_ would try being obedient in a military camp for three months."

"Of course, I would." So Stark did.

—

General Carter reportedly ran him ragged. At least, that's what Bucky read in his fairy book.

—

"Who else would I choose for champion?"

"I am too cold to be your champion. I cannot feel my fingers after the long march we ran yesterday.

—

_Fury is alive. The asset is to find him and finish it, but night after night, the asset fails to do so._

—

"There's quiet warfare going on," Steve wrote. "Some say that General Fury is alive and faked his own death to head up a rebellion. Some say he's trying to stop one. My parents urge me to select a champion, but I only want you."

"I am too weak to be your champion," Bucky wrote back. "Rumlow nearly took my arm off this morning." And then Bucky nearly beat Rumlow to death with his hands. He didn't know how he did that or where he got the skill.

—

"Who are you obeying, Bucky?" Natasha asked, brows furrowed with worry. There were limits to what she could countermand and limits to what her small magic would do.

He hunched in on himself wearily. "I don't know." It hurt to even try to think about it.

—

Stark shivered unhappily when he reappeared. He looked older than he had before and repentant. "I've sworn off large magic. It… It wasn't what I expected."

"I suppose not," Natasha snapped at him.

Bucky came out of the corner of the room. "Can you take the curse off me?"

Stark stared at him for a long moment. "You're one of the ones I hurt, one of the ones I gave—"

"Obedience," Bucky cut him over tersely.

"I can't." Stark looked haggard and sorry but he shook his head, and with that, Bucky's hopes sank. "I swore off large magic, but whatever I can do for you, I will. If you need help, just call."

After a tense silence, "You can break it yourself." Then with that, Stark took his leave.

—

_One day, the asset will be asked to kill the royal family. Of that, he's almost certain. It's the worst thought he ever thinks._


	4. Chapter 4

"Natasha. I need your help. It's small magic."

Natasha looked inexpressive to those who didn't know her. Bucky knew her though and knew that she looked worried.

"I need to convince him I'm dead."

Her sigh. A blank certificate pressed into her hand.

"I can do that, love," she said.

It was mostly paperwork. It took very little magic at all.

—

The prince was called home. The fighting had grown worse. The king and queen were right to demand that he return and hold the tournament to select a champion. They were right to have him protected.

Bucky knew that, even if his heart ached knowing it couldn't be him. He rubbed his injured arm and returned to the medical tent. He couldn't even remember how it got slashed up so badly.

—

Every member of every military branch, amateur and fully commissioned were to be present. Natasha outfitted him in armor that would hide his face and form from those who knew him— _Steve_ —and whispered small protective magics into it.

"I can't help you win," she told him. "I can't heal your arm."

"I know." Bucky didn't want to win. He just wanted to see him. "Perhaps I'll go down in the opening jousts."

Natasha shook her head. "Do not wish such a thing," she said sharply.

—

The tournament was arranged in the traditional fashion, opening jousts open to the newer, younger knights, followed by the melee.

To select the champion, those who distinguished themselves in both regular events then participated in single combat duels to find the best warrior of all.

—

Bucky did not go down in the opening jousts. He held his own and then some, starting whispers in the crowd wondering who the youngling was who was so strong.

His arm ached and injuries throbbed, but he did not stop fighting until he was done, some compulsion outweighing self-preservation.

He wondered sometimes what terrible things his hands had done, but every time he got too suspicious, some compulsion to stop thinking about it drove it from his mind.

—

Attending the evening feast should have been out of the question, as Natasha stated flatly that she would not help him go. "It's too dangerous, Bucky."

"I came here to see him," Bucky protested. He called Stark over Natasha's snapping angry eyes and harsh protest.

Stark came promptly and presented himself. "How can I help you? Illusions? I can make it so your own mother wouldn't know you."

—

"Do you have a name?" the prince asked politely.

"James." It was his own name, and Bucky cursed his own lack of creativity, but Steve showed no sign of recognizing him. He smiled. "From Ayortha."

It took a little while to relax, but Steve had good memories from there and they discussed the sings, the flowers…

"Do you sing?" Steve asked eagerly.

"Sadly, I have no great singing voice." It would have been an embarrassment to an Ayorthan. "But I can dance well."

—

Bucky didn't go down in the melee, though he should have. A blow to his arm made him remove to the medical tent with gritted teeth as soon as the games were over. No illusion would fix this so he could go to the feast.

Natasha could take the pain away, but Stark…

"I have something that can keep it functional."

Over the top of the bandages, Stark put a flexible, skin-tight metal armor that held his arm steady and strong.

—

Again, Steve seated him near the head of the table with him at the dinner. Conversation waxed and waned, but eventually there came the topics of friendship and love.

"I've decided never to marry," Steve said solemnly. "I don't— I lost someone important to me, and there is no one else I want instead."

Bucky had not considered anything like that. He deflected. "I cannot marry. It would be a shame for an Ayorthan lass to marry someone who cannot sing."

Steve stared at him, then laughed.

Bucky grinned, as if he'd been merely making a joke all along.

—

His arm was passed off as simply armor in the duels. He could not fight to win. He could not win.

He looked toward Steve, waiting up on the pavilion and looking for all the world as if he wished these were over. Then he must have caught Steve's eye. Steve was looking at him, smiling, and wishing him luck with a gesture.

Bucky turned away and tried to order his own battle-honed reflexes— _and when had he ever been in real battle?_ —to disengage. He couldn't fight to win.

—

Natasha's armor was not an illusion. No one should have recognized him. But his opponent's sword managed to hook onto his helmet and rip it from his head before Bucky could parry.

In horror, he scrambled to his feet and away from the ring.

—

Steve had seen. Of course, he had.

"Bucky?" he roared, hands catching Bucky by the arms before he could escape.

This was no semblance of privacy, no matter they were behind the bulk of the encampment. Bucky turned warily. He almost threw Steve off, but he didn't, he couldn't, not with that look of wonder in Steve's eyes.

"You're alive!" Steve caught him in a tight embrace. "They told me you were dead, that you'd died in a military exercise."

Bucky opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't find any words. It would only be moments before Steve realized and looked at him, puzzled, hurt, bewildered.

"Why? Why would you fake your death?"

_Pierce. Obedience. A curse that could end up with you dead. Someone wants to take this kingdom, and I know more about it than I can remember._

"I can't be your champion, Steve," Bucky growled. "I can't protect you."

"Then just be with me," Steve demanded. "You're my friend." And so many other things they'd never said.

The words caught at Bucky. An imperative, no matter how accidental. He opened his mouth to answer and closed his mouth again.

He needed to say, "I can't." He needed to say, "No." The compulsion rose up inside him to answer, "Yes," and "I will."

The words bubbled up and he fought them down. He pulled himself away, and every part of his being screamed against his resistance. Be with me. Such innocent words. Be with me, when I could kill you, when it's only a matter of time.

He swallowed them down, drew them back in, fought them down to the ground where he stumbled to his knees until they were buried inside him with a will stronger than anything he had ever needed before.

"No, Steve." He lifted his head. "No."

Steve stared at him, frowning, that hurt expression on his face. "Why not? Was everything a lie?"

"No. But I can't be with you. I can't be your champion. I was cursed at my birth to obey any command given me." Bucky saw Natasha among the small crowd that had gathered. "I'm a danger to you."

Steve looked surprised, then shook his head and stepped forward to put his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "No, you're not."

"I cannot be your champion, Steve. Don't you get it? Someone could order me to kill you!" He didn't say Pierce, but he thought it.

"I thought someone just ordered you to be with me," Steve challenged right back.

Bucky's jaw snapped shut. He stared at Steve. He had just told Steve something he'd been forbidden to tell—twice over. He'd just defied Steve's accidental command. His eyes widened.

"You broke the curse, Bucky," Natasha said quietly.

Steve held on, unmoving.

Bucky stared at him for a long time before finally dropping to his knees again in front of Steve. "I said no because my life was not mine to command. Now it is."

A hopeful smile started to break out on Steve's face.

"I'll be yours to the end of the line," Bucky promised.

Natasha sniffed audibly though, if anybody looked, her eyes were dry.

—

Bucky headed up the raids cleaning out Kyrria's military of traitors and restoring General Fury to his position at the head of the troops. He stood by Steve's side as champion for the rest of their days.


End file.
